


Memories on Skin

by idrilhadhafang



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Wild Smut Appears, Body Worship, Bottom Ben Solo, Established Poe Dameron/Ben Solo, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Riding, Top Poe Dameron, sad Ben Solo, scar kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilhadhafang
Summary: The scars have their place here.





	Memories on Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Hurt/Comfort
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The scars have their stories here, and the reformed Ben Solo can say that they wear their memories well. All things considered. Even as he sits together with Poe, Ben can see him more objectively. He can remember being younger and blinded with love for him — where even the fact that he was a living breathing being was miraculous, and his voice was like a song.  
  
Now, older, Poe is still the angel of his memories, but Ben can see the regret he feels at disobeying Amilyn Holdo and Leia Organa alike, the pain of losing comrades (some, like Tallie Lintra, due to Ben’s actions). His angel has broken wings, but they’re healing, and he is a kriffing work of art nonetheless.   
  
“I know that scar,” he says to Poe. “I let them hurt you. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Ben presses his lips gently to it, having a rather absurd thought of kissing-it-better. Somehow. He almost smiles, and he can feel Poe’s smile as well. There’s another one near his temple, another old interrogation scar. He remembers being at war with himself as to whether or not to go to Poe while the stormtroopers were beating him, do his own dirty work. It was only after a while he did. These scars...he’ll kiss them until they fade organically. He owes Poe that much.  
  
Poe reaches up, finally, to the scar that bisects his cheek. It’s a testament to his failure, and in a way, his humanity — his sentience, something that the Dark Side couldn’t touch. He remembers what exactly his mother had said. _I was wrong. It was your heart that saved you, Ben._ It’s a forever-mark, a reminder of one of his worst deeds and his hidden heart all at once. A souvenir. Rey had apologized for giving him it, but she doesn’t need to. Ben knows he’s earned it, completely.   
  
It’s part of him.  
  
“It’s the first time I’ve really seen it this close,” Poe says.  
  
“I know.”   
  
“You know you’re still one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.”  
  
This time, Ben’s actually taken aback. “I...” Why does Poe stay with, still love, this mess of a sentient being?   
  
Poe continues. “Yes. You are.”  
  
Sometimes with Poe’s small acts of tenderness, Ben fears he’ll crack. Come apart and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Rey’s kindnesses hadn’t done that; she was a dear girl, still is, but with Poe, he fears he’ll unravel, be undone.   
  
He pauses. “Poe, why do you stay with me?”  
  
He can remember when they first discussed the torture — there’s no way around it; it was torture — when Poe had all but shouted that he still loved him at the end of his rant. A well-deserved rant, Ben knows.   
  
“Because I love you, you utter fool.” Poe smiles even as he speaks. “Because you’re everything to me, even now.”  
  
“Sometimes it kills me how fundamentally...good you are.”  
  
Poe laughs. “I’m not perfect.”  
  
“Still.” Even at his worst, Poe’s heart was fundamentally pure, fundamentally good-intentioned.   
  
There are more scars. Numerous causes. He says to Poe, “May I...show you the rest?”  
  
Poe nods. Disrobing for him is different than when Rey accidentally caught him with his shirt off. It had been embarrassing for both of them, really, and she’d hated him then. For Poe, it feels comfortable. Right. Poe inhales sharply at the sight of one of the scars that a Praetorian guard carved into his back on Snoke’s orders, as a punishment. Rey definitely hasn’t seen these. Ben turns around, lets Poe see where FN-2187 — Finn — struck him on the shoulder with the Skywalker lightsaber. The bowcaster scar from where Chewie shot him.   
  
“Ben,” Poe says, “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“You didn’t cause them. And even if you did, you don’t need to apologize.”  
  
“Still,” Poe says. “You deserves a lot better.” Silence. “Could I...there’s so much I want to do.”  
  
Ben nods.  
  
“Just lie down.”  
  
Ben does. Poe’s lips graze the more minor lightsaber burn that Finn gave him, before running his tongue along Ben’s collarbone. Ben shivers, almost wants to cry under the weight of such tenderness, and —  
  
“Do you want me to stop?” Poe says.  
  
Ben shakes his head. “You’re wonderful. Don’t stop.”  
  
The next stop is the bowcaster wound. Poe kisses it lightly, before nuzzling along Ben’s belly. Everything about this act...Ben is all but overcome by the tenderness. Poe urges him to turn over before kissing along every scar, every mark.   
  
“You’re beautiful. Even after eleven years,” Poe says. “I missed you, Ben.”  
  
“I know. Poe...I want to make up for every chance we never got. I want you to take me.”  
  
Poe turns him over gently. Ben can already see the weight of worship in his eyes, the love that he doesn’t deserve but has anyway. Then, “Anything.”  
  
It feels like Ben should be worshipping Poe, but every kiss and lick and nuzzle seems to be directed at worshipping Ben. Ben’s shaking. It’s not just desire he feels; it’s a need to be joined with Poe. To never be separated from him again.  
  
Poe looks down at him even as he gasps and moans. “You okay?”  
  
“I am. Poe...please...”  
  
“What do you need? Do you want me inside you? Vice versa?”   
  
Kriff, but both options sound tempting. “Ride me,” he says. “It feels...right. I should be giving you pleasure.”  
  
“I should be giving you that,” Poe says. “But it might solve some problems.”  
  
Poe takes time to prepare himself after unzipping and discarding his pants, kriffing himself on his lube-slicked fingers and hissing at the stretch. Ben watches him in concern. “You can stop,” he says. “If you want.”  
  
“I’m okay.” After what seems like too long, Poe mounts him, straddles him, and slicks the lubricant on Ben’s shaft. Ben moans in desperation before Poe sinks onto his member and moans, an almost visceral moan.  
  
“Am I hurting you?” Ben says in worry.  
  
“You’re — ah! — perfect. You feel so good and big, Ben.”  
  
Poe rides him, Ben occasionally moving his hips to hit that sensitive spot inside him. His prostate. Poe has control of the penetration, he moves, and he feels so good around Ben, so tight and hot...  
  
“Touch yourself,” he grates out. “I want to see you.”  
  
Poe does so. Kriff, he’s so beautiful, glorious, actually. Ben watches, enthralled, even as Poe kriffs himself on Ben’s shaft again and again, and then eventually, Poe climaxes, shaking, clenching around Ben’s shaft — and Ben finishes, spending himself in that warm, pure body.  
  
Poe gets off him, before collapsing beside him. He gets rid of his shirt, probably because, and Ben looks over at him, smiling, sated. “I love you more than anything,” he says.  
  
“I know, Ben,” Poe says. “I know.”


End file.
